Interpol EP

As the post-modern world rapidly rushes off to redefine itself for a new generation, the only certainty is the disorientation ...

As the post-modern world rapidly rushes off to redefine itself for a new generation, the only certainty is the disorientation left in its wake; the stimulus avalanche we're now subjected to on a daily basis is just too much for many of us to capably grapple with. The Information Age is moving us, step by precious step, towards complete omniscience. But of course, the closer we come to one another artificially, the further disconnected we become in the physical world. Interpol, in the scant three tracks of their debut EP for Matador Records, may not be the first to address these themes of distance and loss, but given the present state of our society, these anxieties seem more relevant now than at any point since the dawn of the post-punk era.

Like an antidote to the po-mo dilemma, Interpol convey all the ache of isolation and being driven apart from those you care about in just fifteen minutes, then do themselves one better by suffusing each track with an unmistakable serenity, reckoning with the problem. It's a credit to these unsung talents from the wilderness of New York that they've been able to craft an EP of such power and grace that all I'm left with is the pseudo-intellectual drivel you just waded through. So enough of my crappy armchair philosophy. This mercilessly brief offering is a tiny, self-contained opus of need and longing, damn near perfect in its haunted malaise. And before I go on, let me also note that it's only three dollars. Sweet Jesus, I dare you to give me a reason to pass on this disc, barring Mafia-related coercion or presidential mandate.

Interpol is often compared to the late, great Joy Division, and at a glance, it's not hard to see why. But with deeper analysis, the likening is ridiculous-- Interpol has more in common with the hazy-sweet drones of Clinic or the propulsive rhythms and jangling guitars of Mission of Burma than any of Ian Curtis' brooding dirges. Superficially, Paul Banks does sound somewhat similar to Curtis, but only in his compelling delivery-- not his actual voice-- and certainly not enough to warrant the comparison. It's only after careful meditation that the underlying truth becomes clear: Interpol are reminiscent of Joy Division in atmosphere and brutal conviction alone.

The instrumentation is tight and dynamic throughout, with elements continually dropping in and out to make way for changing progressions as song structures are subtly stripped and rebuilt in synth crescendos and warbling guitar washes. Opener "PDA," the common-knowledge acronym for "public display of affection," is just that: a heartfelt, last-ditch plea to save a failed relationship while simultaneously acknowledging the futility of the act. "You will not reach me/ I am resenting a position that is past resentment/ And now I can't consider/ And now there is this distance," drives home the message before the band launches into a sublime, sweeping chorus, the music reflecting the emotional conflict by fence-sitting somewhere between gentle and driven. "Specialist" begins with poppy bass and a sweetly intoned verse until a surly guitar riff baby-steps its way into the mix like an elementary school bully slowly making his way across the playground. Then he puts you in a hammerlock until you agree to turn your fluffy love poetry into a slightly bent tale of devotion and dominance/co-dependence with lines like, "Time away from me/ Will get you down," and, "Put your little hand in mine/ Speak when you're spoken of."

Those two tracks bookend the glorious, lazy soaring of "NYC," a paean to Interpol's embattled homeland riddled with mixed emotion. "I know you've supported me for a long time/ Somehow I'm not impressed/ But New York cares," as sung by Banks, demonstrates a touching sincerity. And still, the constant undercurrent of isolation remains in the resignation and weariness of "I'm tired of spending these lonely nights/ Training myself not to care."

From start to finish, Interpol's EP in preparation for their first full-length effort is vast, moving, and brilliant. Each listen reveals new layers, the band's appeal growing exponentially. The only complaint that can be leveled at this disc is that it's just too short, which in itself fulfills the first law of show business: always leave them wanting more. At this early stage, it's hard to know whether or not the success of this EP is based on the premise that these are simply the best songs Interpol has to offer. But if the boys can eke out a bargain with Old Scratch himself and pour thirty more minutes of sweet nectar like this into a few billion ones and zeros, their souls would certainly be a small price to pay.